


Born and Raised

by wrennette



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: (mental and physical), Finn-centric, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-18
Updated: 2016-03-18
Packaged: 2018-05-27 09:37:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6279277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrennette/pseuds/wrennette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lack of desire to kill doesn’t denote lack of skill in war. Finn may be new at this whole ‘Resistance Fighter’ business, but he is still a fighter born and a warrior raised.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Born and Raised

Finn wakes, and is surprised he wakes. No. Reformat. He wakes, and is pleased he wakes. He methodically clenches then releases each muscle group, starting with his toes. They respond. He is not paralyzed. The lightsabre did not sever his spine. Red flashes across his vision, and Finn takes a deep breath. In. Out. Kylo Ren is not here. He is safe. In. Out. Okay. Start again.

As Finn tests the muscles in his back, he feels the length of scar tissue that runs from shoulder to hip. He feels the stitching under his skin, and beneath that the slip of ceramic bone. The lightsabre damaged him, but he will walk again. Kylo Ren cannot defeat him. He is the Resistance. Finn smiles broadly at that, thinking of Poe and Rey and all the other wonderful people he’s met since leaving - escaping - the First Order.

Pushing the thought of his new friends aside, Finn finishes checking that he’s all in one piece. Not entirely, is his consensus, but nothing that cannot be fixed. He clenches his hands into fists, savors the slight pinprick pain of using his muscles after laying so still for so long. He clenches his fists again. Finn manages ten minutes of such subtle exercises before a med-droid realizes he’s awake.

The air over Finn’s head fills with words and faces as the doctors test his reflexes and ask him questions. He answers the best he can, his mind still ordering itself. Finally they leave him, and in the doorway, there is Poe, hair wet and curled against his head, his chin shadowed with three days worth of unshaven scruff. Finn grins, and Poe’s face lights in response as the pilot closes the space between them.

“Hey buddy,” Poe greets. “I came as soon as I heard. I’m glad you’re awake.”

“Hey,” Finn says simply, a little floored by the open friendliness of this man, despite what they’d been through together. “I’m glad you’re here,” Finn tacks on after a moment, the silence stretching a half beat too long. “It sounds like I’ll have to do a bunch of exercises, but I’ll be fine.” Poe’s grin gets even wider at that, and Finn couldn’t help his own matching smile.

The work is hard. Recovery is arduous. Finn knows these things. He has been injured before, although never to this degree. The medbays in the ships and bases he has been stationed on have never been this busy, this understaffed and under-outfitted either. The First Order has always known that they are only as strong as their defenses, as the ‘Troopers on their front lines and the TIE fighter pilots in their skies.

Rehabilitation starts with slow unsteady walks to the Bacta tank, leaning heavily on a med-droid or Poe’s arm. Poe is there every possible visiting hour, and is thankfully able to bring Finn reading materials. If Poe is surprised that Finn’s favored reading materials are schematics, procedure manuals, and the by-laws of the New Republic, he does not show it. So Finn reads, and recovers, and soon he can manage the walk to the Bacta tank on his own. The pull of his scar eases.

When Finn is discharged, he is given a small bunk. It is the first bed he has ever had that isn’t in a squad dormitory. It is the first time he can close off a discrete space and say, ‘this is mine.’ It isn’t much, but it is more than he has ever had before, and for this, Finn is thankful everyday. It is quite nice to jerk off without eleven other ‘Troopers listening.

Even before he is given medical dispensation, Finn finds the training areas. They are nothing like the training rooms the First Order built to indoctrinate ‘Troopers, and for this also, Finn is thankful. Most days, he finds a half dozen things for which to be thankful before he gets to the mess hall for breakfast. He begins with walking, then running, target practice on the blaster range, and high-repetition, low-weight lifting.

Stamina, Finn thinks. It is what saved him on Jakku, and he will not run the risk of it failing him now. So he runs, he lifts, he shoots, and when he is confident the wound in his back can bear the strain, he begins running through the martial arts forms he was taught as a child in the First Order. If the Resistance fighters think his obsession with returning his body to peak condition is odd, they do not mention it to Finn. And at meals, Poe is at his elbow, introducing him to the other pilots and explaining customs to which Finn has never before been exposed.

Having been born of a race inhabiting a high-gravity planet, Finn packs dense muscle onto his already sturdy form quickly once he shifts from high-reps / low weight lifting to low-reps / high weight lifting. He ensures though, that he maintains his stamina and flexibility. The forms help him ensure that, help maintain the speed of his responses and the fluidity of movement that prevents injury.

Recovery though, is not only physical. Every evening before Finn sleeps, he trains his mind as well. The red flash and rasping flare of Ren’s lightsabre still haunts Finn’s dreams, but he wakes less and less frequently to his heart racing and cold sweat cooling on his skin. Nights when he does wake in terror though, he pulls on his shorts and runs the dim hallways until his legs and lungs are burning. Often, his runs loop past Poe’s door, and if he sometimes pauses, and contemplates entering, he never follows through. Poe has earned his sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I put this [on my tumblr](http://wrennette.tumblr.com/post/140433728918/lack-of-desire-to-kill-doesnt-denote-lack-of) a while ago but didn't get around to putting it here. Sorry for the crap title. Feel free to come say hi to me there, I am @wrennette.


End file.
